


Ducette

by noseforahtwo



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Virginity, deal with lord basile maron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 17:58:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4314837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noseforahtwo/pseuds/noseforahtwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blackwall smut. Stand alone, scant mentions of a Karaas Inquisitor.</p><p>Lady Ducette from "Deal with Lord Basile Maron"</p><p>I bitched about bad virgin fic. And was told to fix it. So, I did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I benefit hugely from reasonablysunny doing beta on my stuff. Every time she helps me, I say to her, “You know how something is soooo obvious after someone else points it out, and you feel dumb, yeah, that.” Every. Time.
> 
> Having said that, this is unbetaed, stand alone smut.There’s no darling Evelyn, and a scant mention of a Keraas Inquisitor.

“So I said, sure, me and Beardy can do that, easy-peasy.”

He blinked, his eyes snapping back to Sera’s shoes, which were all he could see of her through the shaggy hedge she was wrestling for the last of her missing arrows. “We can do what, again?”

With a satisfied grunt, Sera backed into view, her hair wet with melted snow and from the smell of things, dog piss. “Got it! Shit, that’s all of ‘em. These are the good ones, you know.”

“What did you tell the Inquisitor we’d be doing?”

“No, no.” Sera shook her head, slinging droplets at him. “You’re shite for listening lately, Beardy. I told her we’d talk to Quizzers for her. Cuz he’s wet-yer-pants scary, with the horns and everything, if you don’t know better. We’d be like ambassadors or somethin’.”

“For who?”

With a scrunched nose, the little elf checked the fletching on her arrow in the weak light that filtered into Suledin Keep. “The lady playing army. You know, the one. The one with the tits.” At his blank look, she sighed. “You know-” Sera suddenly slapped herself in the forehead. “Shite! I didn’t tell you. Right, then, I saw her down by those piss-ugly statues, the ones Vivienne was so prissy ‘bout me using for practice. Pffft,” Sera rolled her eyes, turning her back to the wind with a shiver. “Fuck, it’s freezing. Anyway, I saw her down there, all huddled up, lookin’ sadder than a wet nug. Thought I’d get her a drink, you know,” here she made what she thought was a seductive face. “Cheer ‘er up, tight?” She giggled, “Right, I mean. So we go off and have a sit down back at the big camp, just me and her, and it’s a proper mess they’ve got her in, Beardy.”

He’s learned that interrupting Sera with questions or requests she get to the point only made things take longer, so he nodded and kept a sharp eye out, but let her natter away as they shuffled through the heavy snow. She’d get to telling him just what he’d been volunteered for before dark. Probably.

“She got outta that circle- you seen her doing her glowing hands trick on those poor buggers we let out of the quarry, yeah?”

Oh. That one. The healer with…yes, with the tits. Pint-sized, no bigger than Sera. She’d been one of the first to tend the dozen or so half-frozen wretches they’d found mining red lyrium. She had been pacing back and forth at the forward camp, hardly taller than the wicked spikes of the Chevaux de Frise.  “Right. The mage.”

“Not just that, she’s from some bigwig family, and her Dad’s a right twat. Gives a ten year old the boot, doesn’t want nothing to do with her for well close to fifteen years. Not until the Templars shit the bed and the Circles fall apart, then she’s back in his…I dunno, his freaking castle or whatever, sittin’ in a tower, starin’ out the window, not knowing what’s happened to her friends, and not supposed to do magic, just pretend like nothin’ happened.” Sera swung a hand at a nearby branch, wet snow fell in clumps. “But she legs it, gets out here, plays villager while nobody knows what’s goin’ on anyway. Makes herself useful. No bustin’ out in demons, no setting shit on fire, just…you know, patching the little people up, keeping folks warm and fed. And now some arsehole’s gone and grassed her to the Quizzitor, so her Dad knows where she is.”

“Coming to get her then?” He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

“Nah. He hasn’t got the stones for that. Been sending nasty letters, pestering the shit out of Important People. _She_ says that _he says_ to the Important People we’ve kidnapped her. Like anybody’s got time for that. Sky’s still fucking broken, yeah? Corumphemus is enough to worry about. Ballbag.”

Not sure if she meant Corypheus or the father, he nodded. The smell of roasting meat was getting stronger, now the trail in the snow had been trampled into a muddy chute down the last hill before what was left of Sarnia.

“I mean, he’s a right tit.” Sera looked back for his agreement, her eyes gone big the way they did when she was asking, but _not_. “So we should give her a hand.”

Sera vanished as soon as her bowl was empty. The sun disappeared, but the snow held the odd light of the lyrium crystals, turning everything beyond the circle of his fire a sickening orange. Half the men down here had elected to set up in what was left of Suledin Keep, but it was too rickety, too full of odd echoes. He’d take shoveling his way out of a tent over twitching all night, looking for flakes of red poison that might have drifted into his blankets. A few of the stragglers made themselves at home around him and began dealing out a game of Wicked Grace.

Warm with bad wine and a few coins ahead, he was just plotting his big hand when Sera came back, scuffing her way through slushy gravel to his side. He gave her half a glance and budged over on the log that served as his seat before he realized she wasn’t alone. Once he was standing, he could see they were much of a height. Barely up to his chin, though the mage seemed even smaller than Sera somehow, especially when he offered her his place by the fire. She smiled but wrapped her arms around herself and stayed put. Sera was having none of that, and pointedly stared at the two lads nearest her until they gathered up the cards and mumbled their goodbyes, pushing their mates along.

“Good. Now they’ve fucked off, we can talk.” Sera collapsed onto the log, a bundle of bony joints and frizzy hair, elbows propped on her skinny knees. “Sit, yeah?”

They talked, he listened. Sera never mentioned her name. She had been healing the freed quarry slaves, writing and reading letters for those who couldn’t, talking down the occasional skittish apostate brought in by the Inquisition’s scouts or Michel’s men. She carried nothing in the way of weapons. No staff, not even a knife in her boot.  In answering Sera’s questions, or explaining the last month of her life, she spoke to his shoulder. Her hands were red from the cold, curled up into her sleeves.

Sera scowled at her, gave him a look he couldn’t follow as the other woman swallowed convulsively and looked into the fire, her cheeks flushed. “So, I would very much appreciate it if you spoke to the Inquisitor about proving I haven’t been abducted.” She pushed her hair behind her ears. “I’d really rather not be shipped back to the manor in a barrel.”

“A barrel?”

“That was Commander Cuntface’s idea of a joke.” Sera scratched her head and hitched her thick wooly socks higher. “Of course he will. He’ll talk to Quizzers, the Quizzer will tell everybody what’s what and your Dad can get bent.”

“The Inquisitor looks fierce, but he’s never turned anyone down. I’ll do what I can, my lady.”

She flushed scarlet and ducked her head, the ends of her blonde hair swinging around her chin. “No, not that. It’s Renee-oh, no, I think I can be Fleur again. My secret’s out.” Her accent was heavy but musical, and he was sorely tempted to offer to speak in Orlesian if she preferred, but the ribbing he’d take from Fuzzhead later wouldn’t be worth it. “Just Fleur.”

***

“Andraste’s flaming arse, she’s named flower.” Sera shook her head and squirmed under her blanket with a giggle. “She’s so cute. Teach me to say something sexy in Orly.”

Sera was used to him not answering, and kept up a stream of chatter while he skinned out of his damp clothes. Sera didn’t expect him to participate. If something was important she’d tell him twice. He found it soothing, somehow. A woman with no hidden meaning, no subtext. It occurred to him the only woman he was nude around lately was a mad elf bint who took the piss about morning hard ons and tried to pull out his chest hairs when she spotted a white one.

“Think Quizzers’ll have her back in Skyhold?” Sera rolled onto her back, crossing her arms behind her head and sighing, “He might let her. That would be grand. Top jubblies, those. If I had tits like that I’d be wearing Vivienne dresses. Just,” Sera pulled her blankets a foot from her chest. “Pow! Here’s my knockers. All day.”

Rolling his spare blanket into a pillow, he laughed, “You’d tip over with a chest like that.”

“She doesn’t. And she’s pocket-size, too.”

“Fair point.”

Close to dawn, he coughed frigid air but he’d been dreaming of a slick soft mouth stretched around him, of reaching down to trace her pronounced cupid’s bow as Fleur hummed around him. He took himself in hand, thinking of her yellow hair dancing around her face, twisted from the way she tucked it behind her ears.

The next night he was decent enough to keep his back to Sera and pretend to sleep through her diddling herself. The elf’s quick breaths and short, sharp whimper a few minutes later made his own fantasy all the more intense, but the moment he’d cleaned himself up with a scrap of cloth from his pack, it was cold and dark and Maker knew no woman half his age needed anything from a man like him.

It was three days’ ride to a port city where Josephine and the Inquisitor had cobbled together a show of force on Lady Ducette’s - he had to remember to think of her as such, though Wee Flower was much more fitting- behalf. Three days to watch two of the lads they’d brought along fall in love with her as she mended their cuts and told stories about Thedas’ past from the back of her courser. Their eyes glazed over after ten minutes, but he was grateful to have the extra men. He couldn’t ride point and argue the significance of Queen Madrigal with her at the same time.  Three days to watch her kindly rebuff them, and Fuzzhead too.

“Shite.” Sera huffed and kicked at a clump of weeds outside the Inn where they’d stopped to rinse off the dust and shine themselves up for impressing halfwits in gold masks. “Knew it. She’s probably got a bloke off somewhere.”

Of course she had a man. Certainly someone her own age. The only reason she hadn’t married was the Circle. Now that it didn’t look like there’d be any more of those, she was a free woman. Keeping busy checking his horse’s saddle, he allowed himself a moment to think of her settled down somewhere. Lady Ducette wouldn’t last as an apostate in the middle of civil war. There wasn’t enough fight in her, she’d be easy prey on the road. Too kind.

***

“I don’t really drink.”

Of course she didn’t. Normal people didn’t down the first thing that came to hand just to shut their own thoughts out.

“But,” she took a glass from a passing servant, drained half its contents with a gasp and a delicate shudder. “It’s not every night you gate-crash a ball then challenge your own father to a duel. I’ve earned one.” Taking a smaller sip, Lady Ducette leaned against the flower wrapped railing and sighed.  “But if I start drinking for courage now, I’ll be drinking until…” she trailed off, swirling her wine and watching the crowd of dancers below. “Until I don’t need armor and six soldiers to be seen in society.” With a smile, she winked over her shoulder. It knocked him back an inch. “And an elf and Warden, too.”

“It will happen, my lady.” He hoped he sounded as though he believed it. She carried water and wiped up blood without complaint, though it was obvious she’d done little but study before joining the camp in the Emprise. The idea of someone so generous, so willing to learn and change, being shut back in a circle made him ill.

He must have sounded sure, because she nodded and tapped his glass with her own. It made a pretty little note, and she laughed, “From your lips to the Maker’s ears.” Her bracelets clicked as she made to tuck her hair back, then remembering it was pinned up for the Ball, she shrugged and let her hand drop. “It will be an awful lot of work.” Under her breath, “J’ai encore sur du planche.”

“A coeur vaillant rien d’impossible.”

Lady Ducette froze, blinked at him for a moment and turned her head away, then stood straight, emptied her glass and pressed a hand to her temple. “You’ve never mentioned you speak my language,” she sounded half-choked, and he looked around for what else could have upset her. No one was paying the two of them any more attention now than before, which meant they were still staring but pretending not to.

“My lady, I’m out of practice. And you speak mine perfectly. There wasn’t a need.”

“Yes, but I’ve been.” The hand at her temple curled around the back of her neck, the rings she wore catching the candlelight as she sighed. “I’ve been-” She made a frustrated sort of growl, but it was about as threatening as a mabari pup. “I’ve said some stupid things.”

“Oh, that.” He finished his own drink and wished for another. Stepping around her, taking her empty glass, he put them both on a nearby table and turned back. She was red in the face, her little hands curling into fists on her hips. “I wasn’t particularly paying attention, my lady.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then I’ll say I found it flattering.”

She covered her eyes, groaning quietly. “Oh, Maker.” A tittering knot of girls went by, leaving a wash of strong perfume in their wake. She wrinkled her nose, looked back up at him. She’d gotten past it now, there wouldn’t be any tears or anger.

He was glad of that. No reason for her to be fussed. She’d been talking out her arse to one of the serving girls at the inn, and he’d not taken it seriously. Educated twenty five year old women didn’t find old soldiers to be anything but a curiosity. That she thought she was in the company of a Warden was just piling it on.

“ _Just how much_ were you not paying attention?” Her blue eyes narrowed in suspicion.

He couldn’t help the way his lip curled. “I’ve heard every joke about Warden stamina, my lady. Twice.”

She pressed her palms to her blushing cheeks, cut her eyes at the hallway. “Is there anywhere I can be without people staring at me for five minutes?”

“May as well get used to it. You’ll be the talk of the town soon.”

“Yes, but we won’t be in _this_ town, so it won’t count.”  Pulling irritatedly at the neck of her jacket, she made for the wide doors beyond the stairs and he had little choice but to follow. His little mage -and when had he started thinking of her as _that_?- ducked through clumps of men smoking, ladies inspecting one another’s calling cards and hairpieces in a brightly lit salon until there were no more flowers, no more servants scurrying. Only what seemed like miles of near-silent corridors.

“You’re keeping up with the rights and lefts, please say yes,” she tossed back over her shoulder.

“My lady.” _Andraste’s flaming tits_ , he shouldn’t be enjoying the sway in her hips. “I’d be a useless bodyguard if I couldn’t get us out of here.”

“Bodyguard? I thought we were comrades in arms.” She sounded a little breathless in her hurry.

“As you are armed tonight, then yes, that we are.”

“I promise to start taking something sharp with me.” She chose a door seemingly at random, and was about to put a hand on the latch when he caught hold of her elbow.

“Not this one,” he nodded down at dripped wine on the thick carpet, the wadded handkerchief closed in the door. She scowled at him, but let him lead her two doors farther, where he listened and then went in, checking the corners. Nothing but a study, cluttered with cabinets and books.

“What was that about?” She began lighting the braziers in each corner.

He flinched at the first gout of flame. He’d never be used to magical fire. Not when it was closer than a mile. “Rude to lock the doors in a party. It’s not your house, but you can shove something in the door so anyone looking for a quiet spot knows to _keep_ looking.”

“You’re full of surprises.”

That brought him up short. He’d spent half his youth in out of the way galleries, back bedrooms. But what he managed to say was, “I’m an old man, it’s wisdom.”

She laughed, low and breathy and it made his heart flop uselessly in his chest as she studied the pattern of the thick rug between them. “About what I said yesterday.”

“No need to apologize.”

“No, not if…not if you’ve decided it was flattering and not insulting.”

There was a chaise in front of what was probably a nice picture window, but only showed black sky now. She was coming for him, and somehow it was as natural as breathing to sit, take one of her chilly hands and pull until she could perch on his knee. When had he decided to kiss her? Was it the way she was red faced, but determined to carry on? Was it how she shrugged off that he heard her say she wanted to climb him like a tree? Another woman might have burst into tears, not inched closer until the buckles on her sleek leather armor scraped the chestplate he wore.

“Did you hear the part about the armor?” She tapped her nails against the silverite, the sound broke him out in gooseflesh as she slipped an arm around his shoulders.

“I did, and you should know I’ve no designs on you.” That lie, of all the half-truths and evasions he’d built himself out of, was particularly bad. Her face said clearly she agreed.

“None?” Her fingers brushed against his beard, not quite tickling. She appeared fascinated with the difference between the hair at his temple and the coarse sideburns just in front of his ears. He shifted beneath her to make a bit of room for his stiffening cock and she went pink again. “So you thought I was being friendly?”

“My lady, you’re-” her knee brushed against him, he flinched and took hold of her thigh to still her, and she gasped. They both looked down at his hand, battered and chapped and fucking enormous against her short legs. He was a great dull lummox after all. “This isn’t a good idea,” he sighed, but his traitorous hand was kneading, his thumb brushing along the leather that had never seen a fight.

Her buckles scraped against the griffon on his chest as she wriggled out of his grip until she could sit astride him, and his hands were on her hips without thought, pulling her in tight until she ground down against him. “Thank the Maker”, she said against his lips between hurried kisses, “I was afraid you really meant it.”

Dawnstone bracelets rattled against his scarred armor as she pulled at the straps over his shoulders. “Off, Off, Off,” she was chanting under her breath, trying to bite his lips, rub herself against him and free him from his chestplate all at once. She managed it. He was no help, busy with the fastenings of her elaborate jacket. They were too small and they all faced the wrong way. She pushed his hands aside with a laugh. “I’ll get them,” she had to be still a moment, and it gave him time to really kiss her.

Her soft, “oh!” of surprise as he cupped her face was unbearably sweet. Her eyes fluttered closed and those demanding lips went soft against his, letting him tug gently at the lower. He brushed his thumbs along her cheeks, still too warm. Her tongue slid easily along his, happy to let him lead the back and forth of things. She was whimpering, clutching at his shoulders the next time he could think clearly. He pulled back, his hands on the underthings doing their best to contain her magnificent breasts.

“My lady, enough, we can’t.” He pushed his hair out of his eyes and sat back, though that only pressed his cock more uncomfortably against his laces.

His little mage pouted. Maker, the fact that it wasn’t the least bit feigned made him want to fuck her and cuddle her to his chest at the same time. She was devastating- sprawled across his lap, spilling out of her clothes, lips puffy and the fair skin of her throat pink from the scratch of his beard. There was a birthmark on her throat, normally hidden by the swinging ends of her hair. He touched it gently and she jumped, the motion pushing her against his erection. He grabbed her hips to hold her still.

“Just a moment,” she pleaded, her fingers circling his wrists. They were finally warm, she was pink and flushed all over. “I know, I know it’s stupid, but I want a few more minutes.”

He knew better than to let her put her hands on him. Could have stopped her. But the way she licked her lips as she opened his shirt pushed any thought of duty or decency out of his head. Groaning, he pulled the last bit of lace out of his way and her breasts fell into his hands, warm and firm and so silky he wondered if he hadn’t fucked up monumentally and fallen victim to a demon. She arched at his touch, pressing her rosy nipples into his palms and he decided to face his fate. If she was a demon she could peel his skin off later- as long as he got her tits in his mouth.

Her gasping quiver was enough to make his cock twitch, he moaned around the tight little bundle of flesh between his teeth, biting a bit to see what she would do. She yanked his shirt open until he heard something tear, then one of her hands was burrowing in, the backs of her nails skittering over scars and dragging through hair.

“Please!” she whinged, pushing her breast further into his mouth, her other hand grabbing at the back of his head. Cursing himself even as he did it, he feasted on her, biting, licking, running his  cheeks over her nipples in turn. She jumped like he’d jabbed her with a pin. “Oh! That’s-” she laughed down at him “That feels lovely.”

Giving up on his chest, she palmed him through his breeches until he hissed and jerked up into her touch. When she saw him drawing breath to stop her, she mashed her pretty mouth against his with a fierce sort of growl and pulled him free so quickly it must have been magic. “ _Maker_ , Petal, you can’t-”

“Petal?” she purred, sliding her palm up him then thumbing at the crown until he shuddered, his head falling to her slight shoulder. Her hand was sure, finding an easy rhythm as she turned the word over in her mind. “I suppose I am, then.” She pressed a kiss to his temple while he panted into the few inches of space between them. “Is that what you think of me?” Her fingers, so soft and so much gentler than his own- Maker knows he’d had nothing but his own paws there for months- were a torment.

“Flower, yes, a wee, sweet flower,” he mumbled into the crook of her neck.

She giggled and the sound of it made him feel both callow and old as dust at once. “I like that,” her fingers tightened around him and he thrust up into her hand as much as he could without knocking her off his lap. “Petal,” she hummed happily.

Enough of this, someone was bound to come in eventually. Dragging her mouth back to his, he wrapped her up tight and went to his knees, then put her down as carefully as he was able with her still fisting his cock. He made short work of yanking her boots off then dragged her trousers off one handed, the other cupping her through her knickers.

Her fist tightened around him, sending a jolt of pleasure through him that made his back arch. She was staring at his hand while he petted her, her lip caught in her teeth. Those little whimpering noises were back, and her slim hips stirred restlessly until he lost patience and pulled her smalls off. She forgot to stroke him, but he wasn’t sure he could stand it now anyway. Not when he dragged his finger down along the brown curls. _Maker_ , she was slick and scorching hot.

Watching his own thumb spread her open, he felt his sac tighten up dangerously and took her hand off him so he could lay down beside her. She barely noticed. Her eyes were shut and she was panting as he explored, waiting for him to- _fuck_ , yes, _there she was._ He wet the pad of his middle finger in her, pressing the slightest bit inside and dragging the slick back up to circle her clit. She let out a muffled shriek and arched up off the rug, but he was ready for that, and didn’t cease his slow circling even when she jumped, her hair coming undone and her heels digging into the rug, trying to push up into his touch. She was hiding her face against shoulder, shy now in faint light of the hissing braziers. If she only knew - he’d have every candle lit around them if he could. His eyes ran over her greedily, she was fair and smooth. How had she come through her little adventures without a bruise, without a scratch? Not even a freckle to mar her skin.

Licking his fingers clean - Maker did he wish there was time to eat her first - he stretched out above her and she coiled her arms around his neck, her soft thighs against his hips. She was muttering nonsense or Orlesian or both, but he had no mind left for translation. He heard pleases and yeses in there, so he hitched one of her legs up higher onto his hip, took hold of his aching cock and steeled himself for the wet kiss of her body.

It had been too long, obscenities weren’t enough, so he groaned long and loud as eased in. Slowly, though all he wanted was to plunge ahead, desperate. His little mage was hot, slippery as she took the first inch of him and she-

She had gone dead still under him. His eyes snapped open. She was rigid, her lips bitten white. Fists had curled in the hair at the back of his head and she didn’t look to be so much as breathing.

Virgin. It may as well have been written in two-foot tall flaming letters around her head.

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

Something evil twisted through him, its name was Thom and it was crowing with triumph. It knocked the wind out of him. Horror and a base, nasty greed swung back and forth in his head. Worse, she was blinking up at him, her lips shaking with her effort to smile. She thought she was going to grit her way through it. _Fuck_. He didn’t need to pull out that little bit, as he was going soft. Nauseous with dread, he pried her legs from his hips and pushed up onto his hands and knees.  


	2. part two

He knows. 

Of course he knows. Idiot. Why couldn’t I just play along?

“Fleur,” he looked ill. Sodding sick to his stomach, and she wanted to curl up and disappear. It had all been so good, tender and shivery and overwhelming and now the looming bulk of him above her was an incrimination. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“You think I go from one camp to the next, fucking…fucking virgins for sport?” His sharp brows were drawn and he was scowling down at her, and sweet Andraste, he was more than a little frightening.

“I thought…” her voice wobbled and she sniffed, hard. No crying. That would be the icing on this horrible cake. “I’m sorry. I suppose I thought you wouldn’t notice.”

“The Marcher lummox?” His voice stayed low but it was terrible, the disgust in his eyes.

“No,” she whispered, nothing more to her voice. “I’m so sorry.” Turing her head was no good, she curled as much away from him as she was able with his hands still knotted into fists on either side of her ribs.

“Ah, bloody buggering _fuck_.” He got to his knees and she pressed her nose into the carpet, letting her hair cover as much of her face as it could. This was it, then, she wasn’t meant for sex. She could hear him pulling up his breeches, tying them as he walked away. The sharp _tocktock_ of a bolt being checked and put back startled her. From the screen of her hair, she could see him wedge the back of a chair under the doorknob as well, kicking it in place. Fleur snuffled, dust from the carpet making her throat sting. He was moving around the room, opening hutches and drawers. She closed her eyes again when he came back.

She jumped at the touch of his hand tucking her hair behind her ear. “Up, sit up.”  Blackwall was kneeling in his breeches and boots, holding his rumpled shirt out to her, his eyes guarded, nothing to be gleaned from the tone of his voice. Sitting up, she pulled it over her head, had a ludicrous urge to cower there under the linen that smelled of him, like a cat in a laundry basket.

But she pushed her arms into the comically long sleeves. As her head popped out of the torn collar, he opened a bottle of something Antivan. “No glasses in here,” he took a long pull from the bottle, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. The black hair that swirled over his chest narrowed into a line down his stomach but some here and there were gray. She hadn’t noticed before and wondered at the age between them. She tugged at his shirt, rolling the cuffs four times and trying to keep the neck closed over her chest. With a sharp gasp at whatever he’d just consumed, he shook his head. “Don’t bother. No good talking with you starkers, but,” his eyes ran over her, from her toes up to the top of her head. “I don’t know if that’s much better.” His mouth twisted in a wry sort of sneer. “You’d be tempting in damned near anything.”

Her face went hot again. She took the bottle when he offered, not because she wanted to drink, but because she needed something to do while she digested the thought that he wasn’t too angry. He wanted to talk. He liked the look of her in his shirt.

When she didn’t drink, just sat there on the carpet shivering, he sighed, pushed himself back until he leaned against the chaise behind him and patted the floor between his spread legs. “C’mere, then.”

Absurdly grateful, she tucked herself into him. Pulling her knees up, she wrapped her arms around her legs and leaned back into the solid warmth of his chest. His chin rested on the top of her head, but he kept his hands away from her. One on the bottle, the other at his knee. “Out with it.”

She thought of playing dumb, but she’d done enough lying for one night. “What do you want to know?”

His laugh wasn’t much amused. “What were you after tonight, my lady?”

The bitter twist in his voice made her ashamed of herself. Turning until she could look up into his guarded grey eyes, she sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any ulterior motive.” Blackwall didn’t look like he believed her, but he waited quietly while she thought. “I saw you with the Inquisitor. I thought…” she looked down, following the line of a scar on his arm where it twisted along the inside of his elbow. “I thought you might get him to help me. And then, I thought,” her teeth were going to chatter if she didn’t use some of the nervous magic welling up in her.

She held out both hands, pushing frosty whirls through the air, then melting them until a puff of steam rose to the ceiling. Stretching her will to pull the braziers from either corner closer to them helped, but the tension in his firm chest behind her told her all she needed to know. “You don’t like magic.”

He had another swallow from the bottle - brandy from the smell of it. “I’m not afraid of magic, my lady.”

“What happened to Petal? I liked Petal.”

“Tell me, then, Petal,” his voice had gone soft, the burr of his accent making her shiver.

She turned and cuddled into him, resting her ear on his shoulder, looking down the great lumpy expanse of his chest, not sure if she was allowed to touch him again. “You’re so big.”

“My lady, that’s obvious to anyone with eyes in their head,” he grumbled. “Now tell me how a girl like you has made it to your age untouched.”

“I’m not!” Fleur poked at his arm. “I’ve had my hand on a man’s-” she ducked her head, the edge of his beard tickling her forehead. Apparently saying cock was too much. “And my mouth, so-”

The sound of his quiet groan was so unexpected she tipped her chin back to look at him. He’d closed his eyes, one arm going around her, heavy and warm. His hand on her shoulder smelled of metal and leather and the slightest bit of her own scent. She brushed her lips down the length of his first finger and could feel him shift against her.

“Enough,” he growled, and the gravelly rasp of his voice went straight to her belly, sharp and intense. The moment he’d held himself poised to press inside her, he’d made a noise low in his throat with his exhalation, and it spoke to something inside her then as now. “Tell me then,” the warm glow of the braziers lit his face, picking out the lines and creases around his eyes.

There wasn’t much to tell. Templars, never enough time, never enough quiet. “It wasn’t for lack of trying, but the last time, the one who came in, he was a lieutenant, and he saw.” His hand tightened on her shoulder, the tendons in his forearm standing out just under her chin. “Everything. And after that, I knew I wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye, ever again. It finally wasn’t worth the trouble. The Temps left you alone if you looked like you were working. So I was _always_ working. Eventually the boys stopped trying to get my attention, and here I am - a bluestocking.”

He was staring at her mouth as she spoke, the arm around her restless, his fingers plucking at the ends of her hair. The thought that she might have another chance made her shiver. His eyes went heavy lidded at that. “You’re not angry?”

“Ah, Petal,” He sighed, shaking his head sadly. “Not angry, but also not the one for this.” His mustache tickled her ear as he leaned in the last inch and seemed like he was smelling her hair.

“I’m sorry.”

He frowned down at her, and she couldn’t keep looking him in the eye. So she rubbed her cheek against the soft hair on his chest instead.  He smelled delicious, like leather and brandy, masculine and unfamiliar. “I lost my nerve. And it’s just come to me now you might not have wanted to if you had known. But the way men talk, I thought…it was a-” she could feel herself going red again, tucked her cold toes under his leather-clad thigh. “A selling point, I suppose.”

“I’m not a man who wants to hurt a girl,” he said fiercely. “There’s no need for it.”

“I didn’t mean to imply you were,” she twisted farther and wrapped both arms around his ribs and squeezed. His sigh stirred her hair and she closed her eyes, but it occurred to her she may have missed the point. “Oh! Are you saying it shouldn’t hurt? Yes I know, and it didn’t just then, but girls talk too.” After a second to gather her courage she said into his skin, “But I’ve read some things. Pain heightens pleasure for some people.”

His bark of laughter jostled her. “Get your feet wet first before you dive in, Petal.” He chuckled and it was dark and filthy. Blackwall leaned away from her enough to tip her chin until she had to meet his eyes. His nose had been broken, a long time ago. It made his face a little less severe. “Tell the next bloke, Petal. Before.” He grazed her lip with his thumb, “You deserve better than me - a quick fuck on a cold floor.”

She covered his hand with her own. “Don’t be silly.” He was perfect. “Can’t you pretend you don’t know? It doesn’t have to be important, honestly. I overthink things, I can never stop thinking. I promise not to turn to stone this time.”

“I’m telling you-” he gritted his teeth, took a deep breath. “I’m not the one for this.”

“You’re perfect!” she blurted out, running a hand over his shoulder. The muscle under his skin was warm, her fingers explored the ridge and valley of his collarbone. With a pained look, he had another swallow of brandy. “You’re…you’re incredible.” She watched him wince, shake his head. Maybe it was the scars. But they weren’t ugly, they were a natural result of his talents. “Yes, you’re ideal. You’re kind, and you’ll talk to me about obscure history no one cares about anymore. You’re a very good kisser.”

He smirked at that.

“I’ve never known anyone like you. There aren’t people like you in the Circle.”

“My lady-” The way he said it made her hands tingle, nervous magic buzzing around her fingernails. But he was going to argue. Even with her pressed against him, clinging like a vine.

Putting a hand over his mouth, she rushed to say the rest. “You’re kind and clever and… _just enormous_ , really. I never knew I liked that, and best of all you’re going away in a few days. I won’t have time to be attached to you.” Though that wasn’t entirely true, she could manage it. His breath tickled the backs of her fingers. “There’s too much to be done for me to let fancying a man make my brains mush. But you’ll go with the Inquisitor, and he’s got a war to fight.” Petting the wiry hair at his chin, she grinned, “Out of sight, out of mind, yes? That’s how you say it?”

He didn’t answer for a long time. His breaths were loud in their quiet hideaway. She found herself wondering if his breathing was louder than hers because the volume of air he could take in was so much greater. His lungs must be twice the size of hers, if her anatomy manuals were correct on relative organ size and the effects of routine exertion on the body. She shook herself mentally, this wasn’t the time to be analyzing anything. This was the time to hope she was doing something right as she touched his lips lightly. Blackwall took her hand, “Yes, that’s how you say it.”

He squeezed her fingers, drew her knuckles to his mouth. Something about the gesture made her stomach flutter, and then he was kissing her, his hand in her hair, pulling pins out. Oh, Maker, he was kissing her like she was precious, soft and wet and unhurried. It was all she could do to concentrate on untying his laces again. He tried to stop her, but she broke away from his mouth with a gasp for air. “Let me,” she wormed her hand down, along the black hair that ran below his navel, until he shifted enough she could free his cock. He was thickening in her hand, half hard, and she got to watch in fascination as she stroked him. The groan he tried to smother in the crook of her neck made her toes curl with pleasure. She felt it between her legs, every sound he made. When her fingers slipped farther down to fondle his balls, he threw his head back against the seat of the chaise.

“Maker!” The tendons in his neck stood out as he arched into her hand. “How’d you know to-”

She felt herself giving him a wicked grin. “I’m technically virgin, not an innocent.” She licked her palm, gripped him firmly, he was hard now, a little red. The soft slide of her hand carried with it a bit of magical heat. His head came up and he looked down in shock. “You’ve never had magic here, have you?”

“I confess, my lady, I’ve never even thought of it, but, _Maker_.” His hips jerked, his mouth falling open on a ragged gasp. “Are you doing it on purpose?”

“It happens on its own sometimes, but now I am, yes.” She watched him accept pleasure from her hands and felt a rush of power not unlike the first time she’d cast a real spell. She could do this for the rest of the night if he would let her.  “A first for both of us, then.”

That seemed to remind him of his purpose, and he pulled her hands away. She heard herself whinge and would have been embarrassed, but he slid his palms under the shirt draped over her, teasing his way up until she could look down through the open collar and see him weigh her breasts in his hands. She shivered, nipples going stiff under his thumbs.

Blackwall kissed her, constantly. Slow and light as he pulled his big shirt over her shoulders, hard and toothy when she wrapped her now bare arms around his neck. The hair on his chest felt wonderful on her skin. She twisted, rubbing against him and he moaned, low like he didn’t want to. “Yes, good girl,” he muttered into her cheek, his hands tugging until she straddled him. His cock nudged her belly, warm and a little damp and she tensed. Never letting her mouth get too far away, he made a soothing noise between quick little kisses and brushed the backs of his fingers against the curly hair between her legs.

Her nervous shiver turned into a shudder as he teased the lips of her sex, never parting her or trying to press inside, only smearing her wetness around, but avoiding the spot she most wanted touched. She opened her eyes to find him watching her face from inches away. There was a pleased curl to his lip that made him rakish as she shook in his lap, her voice breaking on moans. If he would just move his hand a little higher…

“Please!” She grabbed his wrist and put his fingertips where she wanted. He chuckled and smoothed slow circles into her. She let her head rest on his shoulder, lifted up onto her knees when he told her to. His hand never stopped, and she jumped with each pass. It felt good, but not quite right. She couldn’t hide a little grunt of frustration.

“What?” His free hand slid up her back, into her hair. “Too hard? Tell me,” he urged.

“No, it’s fine,” she mumbled, but his hand stopped and he kissed the top of her head. “Umm, could you…can I turn around?”

That was better. Seated on his muscled thighs, her legs spread wide, she could actually watch his hands on her. They were so big. He had scars there too, burns and cuts, and a fresh pink line across his left that looked like it hadn’t been healed properly. But she couldn’t concentrate on that anymore, not when he plucked at her nipples one after the other, firm but not painfully so. His right hand, though, was doing things so wonderful she sank her nails into his leather clad thigh, not thinking.

His grunt of surprise got her attention, and she tried to say she was sorry but the only sound she made was a wordless moan. This, this was perfect. He kept his fingers very slick, and he let them glide over her bundle of nerves lightly. It was overwhelming. She wanted to arch up away from his lap, she wanted to thrash. Instead she said his name brokenly, her voice twisting into a dry, pleading sob. Thank the Maker, he understood she didn’t mean him to stop, but he pressed a little harder, flicking his fingers against her. She groaned, squirming and digging her toes into the carpet on either side of his knees.

“Tell me, then,” his breath was hot in her ear, he nipped at the lobe and sucked until she whimpered. “More?”

“N-no,” she wriggled, rubbing the small of her back against his cock until he groaned, too. “Before, do it like you were before.”

“Like this?” His hand curled around her, his middle finger dipping into her very gently, as he had before she’d almost ruined everything. The anticipation as he dragged it back up was enough to make her claw at his leg again. His laughter, low and nasty and rattling her bones where she leaned back against him made her weak with lust and surly all at once. But then he was doing it, slow and light and she made an odd breathy sort of noise she couldn’t remember ever making in her life.

“Maker, please, yes,” She clutched at the hand on her breast, squeezing tight. The hard line of his collarbone was uncomfortable where she pressed the back of her head against him, trying to feel connected to something beyond those fingers on her. Losing track of her words, a hodgepodge of languages and begging fell from her mouth. She was going to come, any moment now. She stared down at the black hairs on his arm, at the muscles of his thighs apparent even through his breeches. Oh, Maker, she was going to come on his lap, his gravelly voice saying sweet, inane things while his callused fingers wracked her with pleasure. Her own way of doing things would have been  more focused, done in moments. But, she reasoned, he couldn’t tell what felt best, he didn’t know that what he was doing was the absolute most she could bear without screaming.

That she could still gather impressions, make guesses at the whys and hows of things even while a man was making her flinch and sob for release was wonderful. Maybe she could manage to think her way through this after all. He took his hand away and she babbled stupidly, “No, no, don’t stop, please.”

But he was only bringing his fingers to his own mouth, bare inches from hers. He laughed a little, but it was warm and not mean at all as he sucked his fingers. She could hear his tongue wetting his skin again and felt herself go hot when a string of saliva shimmered between his bottom lip and his fingers. That should have been off-putting, or at least not so arousing, but the thought he was going to use that on her body made her moan. “I don’t think-” she broke off, watching, holding her breath and then sobbing with relief when he began stroking her again, still so lightly.

“You don’t think?” he said into her ear, his free hand squeezing her inner thigh, running over her stomach, around her hip.

“I was going to say,” she whispered, “I don’t think anyone’s ever…” She found she couldn’t manage to say aloud that no one knew what she tasted like.

But he understood anyway and laughed his dark, utterly _bad_ chuckle. “They did, Petal. You might not’ve seen, but he had his fingers in his mouth, I promise.” Then he was kissing and nipping at the side of her neck, nuzzling her ear, all while he told her how sweet she was, how much he’d wanted to see her like this.

His beard should have tickled her shoulder, but she couldn’t concentrate on anything but the need to come, and now. Her sob was very nearly genuine as she begged him, but shook her head when he asked if she wanted it harder.

“Faster?”

“No, no, not that but-” she writhed against him, pressing the back of her head into his collarbone. “Something!”

One hand spread over her abdomen, pressing hard, holding her in place while he wiped his slippery fingers dry on her thigh. She knew instantly he’d been right, she could feel the calluses on the ends of his fingers and they were just rough enough to push her over. The strangeness of it was dizzying. She heard herself wail, wordless and agonized and then everything stopped for a moment, clenched hard but he had her, he held her and let her clamp her thighs to still his hand, riding out the last of it.

Blackwall was breathing as hard as she was, which was odd seeing as how she was the one who’d had a spectacular orgasm. She turned her head enough that he could reach her mouth and opened her legs again as he kissed her, but kept her hand over his. “Wait a moment,” she shivered and bit at his lip, then let go.

He groaned at her shuddering when he slid his fingers over her, but she sat up away from his chest, turning round on wobbly knees. His hands caressing her backside made her laugh, though it stopped as she straddled him again. What in Andraste’s name was she supposed to do with this story book Hero? His hands slid up and down her thighs, but he didn’t pull or grab. He was waiting for her to stop staring at his cock, probably, and do something.

Well, it needed to be wetter, for one thing. She licked her palm, which he watched avidly, but then it occurred to her to plaster herself against him, breasts and belly and her face hidden in the crook of his neck. She shifted until his erection was pressed flat against his stomach and nestled between the still very sensitive lips of her sex. He was loudly enthusiastic about the idea. She leaned back enough to look at his face. His eyes were squeezed tight and his hands twitched, hovering over her hips as she slid along his length. She smiled, kissed his tense mouth. “I think, probably, I could come again like this.”

“If that’s what you want,” he ground out, pressing a hand to the small of her back and thrusting a little in counterpoint to her movements. His beard was mussed, and she smoothed the edges down again.

“Could you?”

He made a questioning grunt, his hands cupping her backside, squeezing and stroking.

“Come like this,” she rubbed herself against the head of his cock in jerky little movements. It felt divine, and he groaned, jerking against her. “I mean.” She pressed kisses to his neck, down into the hollow of his throat, where a little sweat had gathered.

“Petal, I could have come ages ago. If this is how you- _Fuck_!”

The blunt tip of him nudging inside her felt alien but she wanted it, wanted it desperately, _specifically_. She didn’t want him using his hands, she didn’t want to rub against him, she absolutely needed to have him inside her. It took a few seconds to angle her hips the proper way, and she had to hold him at the base to start, but she managed it.

With a breathless laugh, she said, “Sorry, I changed my mind,” and let herself move another little bit farther down. He took an enormous shuddering breath and watched her, eyes flicking from her face down to where he could see himself slide into her body.

Her mind started working again. It felt odd and lovely, but that might have been the rapturous expression on his face making her think that way. There was a bit of stinging, but it wasn’t terrible. It was mostly strange until she was finally settled down against him. She lifted up and then eased back down a few times, and the slick friction was nice, it stung less, she was getting used to it now. She looked up, intending to ask how he’d like her to move, as that only seemed polite.

The itchy throbbing of magic shot through to her hands along with that swelling of assurance she’d first felt in the Circle when her spells finally _worked_. Warden Constable Blackwall was a wreck. His lip was caught in his teeth, his hands clenched into fists on the floor and his arms were nearly vibrating with tension. Every tendon and vein in his forearms was visible. His thighs under hers were like stone.

Now she felt wonderful. Every time she came up, almost to the point of him slipping free, he dragged a breath in, only to sigh or groan or grunt when she came back. She braced her hands on his chest, rubbing idly at his nipples, which made him jerk. No wonder desire demons were the first thing Templars were trained to recognize. She had a fully grown man - a mass of muscle and determination if she’d ever seen one - under her thumb. Taking hold of his wrists, she pulled his hands to her hips. As she moved, he palmed her breasts, squeezed her backside, and took hold of her waist when her thighs started trembling with the effort.

Pulling her tightly to his chest, he moved under her until his feet were flat then nudged her back to rest her elbows on his bent knees behind her. It spread her open wider, and he sighed, running a hand down from her neck to the curls between her legs. It occurred to her to feel exposed, embarrassed, but how could she when he was looking at her like _that,_ when he told her with a regretful frown that he didn’t have much longer.

“What should I do?”

He shook his head, pulling her back into him and thrusting up carefully as she knelt above him. She leaned in for a kiss. When he made a soft needy noise into her mouth she buried her fingers in his damp hair and held him tight until a moment later his hands pushed her up and away enough for his cock to slip free. He hissed when she rubbed her stomach against him, holding her still, his hips jerking against hers as he came, warm and sticky where they were pressed together.

Blackwall leaned his head against the chaise and breathed for a bit, his heavy hand stroking her back while she stretched out against him, limp and content, until the chill crept back into her toes and the sticky mess between them became impossible to ignore. He seemed to notice it too, and dragged his shirt over to wipe them both. Unsure what to say, she dressed alongside him, sneaking glances as he covered himself and caught him doing the same. She smiled a little, running her fingers through her hair. Finding the pins was a lost cause and she wondered how bad it looked.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, buckling the last of his armor. “We’ve been gone too long to fool anyone.”

Shrugging into her jacket, she nodded. “It’s probably best if we don’t…If we’re going our separate ways, I think we shouldn’t do this again.”

He cinched his belt, picked up the brandy bottle and looked the slightest bit relieved. His eyes softened. “You’re right, Petal.”

She grinned up at him, wrapped her arms around his waist. Ignoring the way her stomach went fluttery at the sight of his hair hanging in his eyes when he bent to kiss her, she was only glad he understood.

“Fucking shame, though,” he sighed, pulling her lip with his teeth and grabbing hold of her backside until she slapped his hand away with a laugh.


End file.
